The perils of being a working mum. 

Today I left the house in my usual work attire. I’ve given up on trousers and skirts and dresses are the choice at the moment. 

At 9.15 however, I realised, as I nonchalantly ran my hands down my legs, that I had one horrendously hairy leg and one beautifully smooth leg! 

Granted this has meant I’ve had a warmer leg due to the Baltic conditions of works air con blasting out, but this is definitely one of the perils of being a working mum. No time to do any one job properly. 

Let me take you back…

A couple of months ago I bought an epilator. I’d heard good things about them, I’d also heard bad things about them but thought – ‘I’ve had a child, the pain can’t be that bad’. Oh how wrong I was!!

If you have never heard of an epilator or tried it it is a torture implement that I have voluntarily purchased. However, now I have spent a significant amount of money on it the Yorkshire genes in me insist I get use from it. 

Whoever invented the epilator either has an abnormally numb body or is actually the devil. 

To cut a long story short I started my second attempt at using it last night in the hope it would be less painful and quicker. I had been assured this would be the case.

Despite the gin and tonic I had consumed that evening and the ibuprofen I’d taken because of my headache (a great mix I know!) it still felt like somebody was plucking each of my hairs from my body slowly with minute tweezers…oh wait…

After completing one leg I got up to have a breather and wipe the tears away and promptly stubbed my toe, shouted ‘fuck this shit’ and watched another new episode of Orange is the New Black whilst holding an ice pack to my swollen toe. 

So this is how I now have one gorilla leg and one as smooth as a baby’s bum. But in order to get a matching pair I have to go through the whole ordeal again on the other leg and I’m not quite ready for that yet so this evening I’m still Tarzan on one leg and Jane on the other. 

I will sort it before Monday though…hopefully. 

Girls night out.

On Friday night I went out out with some friends from work. It was organised a while back with a group of about six girls. I’d missed out on leaving drinks for my previous job and we’d had other leavers and birthdays since then so I asked the babysitters (my parents) if they would have Charlotte and they said yes. All sorted. Let the party begin!

However, as time got closer and two girls bailed I realised I would be going out with two twenty two year olds and a twenty five year old. All who are hot and slim and hair is perfectly quaffed. They’ve also perfected that pout in all their Instagram poses which I cannot do without it looking comedy.

I started panicking. What the hell was I going to wear? I didn’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb but I also knew that my ‘jeans and a floaty top’ combo would not cut it this time.

Queue panic mode. The only info I had was that one was wearing a backless play suit and another, a dress. I tried not to snigger at the idea of me in a backless play suit and tried to get serious so left work early to rush down to the nearest Outfit and buy the trendiest thing I could find. I realised very quickly that a crop top and shorts would not be the way forward however, so turned around and walked out.

I had planned to have the evening to sort myself out but, as they always do, plans changed and I had to pick up Charlotte from nursery, entertain her and try and get ready all at the same time. Easy peasy of course. I missed random bits of my leg whilst shaving, I have never applied fake tan so quickly, my hair dried into a fluffball despite all normal products being used and I still didn’t know what to wear. I stopped counting the amount of times my skinny jeans came on and off but I decided on a dress in the end. I say decided, I mean my friend was waiting outside to pick me up whilst I was wearing it so I had no choice.

I did my make up in the car and realised I had forgotten my mascara. The one item my face can not live without.  I felt old, my tan was somewhat haphazard, my hair was poofing at a rate of knots and now I would look like I was half asleep as well.
 

The end of the night
 Whilst out I got skipped over being ID’d twice (both times all my friends did), I realised I knew the words to songs the rest of my group had never heard before, I ordered a single measure of gin despite doubles being only a few pence extra and I wanted to dance when apparently it was not cool to do so.

Things I learnt through the night were;

  • that Coventry is a pretty crap night out
  • despite not looking ‘old’, I definitely do not look young
  • drinking out of volcanoes is never a good idea
  • and dance music and strobe lights is not my idea of good music to dance to. 
    The aforementioned volcano – who knows what was in there!
      
    Us pretending we’re enjoying the said beverage.
     

So at 1.30am I took my poorly feet and bottle of water home and hoped for at least a lie in the next morning…

I didn’t get one – damn you body clock!!